Newspaper Page Text
W. F. SMITH, Publisher.
VOLUME Yin.
THE TTTRKSfIER*.
This is tfce wheat—
The wheat well grown, man’s lawful spoil,
The new-plucked fruit of patient toil;
Pledge me the farmers’ slnewv hand—
liisgoodlv acres waiting stand;
Pledge me the hands his force can wield
1 o plow, to sow, to reap the field !
Bruise the bright heads and break them sore,
Scatter the ctiaft'from door to door,
Show me the kernel sound and sweet—
I he nation’s bread, the winnowed wheat!
This is the flail—
The noisy flail, whose loud uproar
Wears the oaken threshing-floor;
A measured beat, a ringing round,
A hardened resonance of sound!
The long, low scaffolds wax and wane,
I>rop (lawn the sheaves of jyirnered grain,
Ami empty, careless, laughter-wild,
'J he yellow straw is loosely piled.
Those level trashing* tell the tale—
Swing round the flail, the mighty flail I
These are the men—
The men who cleave, with sturdy stroka,
The fallen giant’s heart of oak,
Now build for life and life’s demands,
And fill with bread the waiting lands.
Clash rhyme with rhyme, the threshers’ song—
Ileal blows on blows, strike loud and long;
The wrench of hunger drives at length
The iron of unyielding strength;
Wield the bent blade—ag tin, again,
And serve the puny race of men!
Elaine Coodale in Ike Critic.
TIIE PAINTED FAN.
“You won’t forget me, little one?”
Raid Earl Lysle, in his softest accents,
looking down with earnest eyes into the
Rweet flower- face, so trustfully uplifted
to his own.
“No, I will never forget you,” answered
the girl.
And the blue eyes grew moist, and the
red lips trembled. The promise broke
down*the last remnant of her strength;
the next moment she had burst into
passionate, bitter weeping.
It seemed as though the branches in
the tree above them bent pityingly down
upon them; as though the sun lingered
a moment in its tenderest sympathy, ere
breathing his good night to the world;
though the robin checked his notes to
listen to the sobs which echoed through
the silence of the wood, and stirred Earl
Lyslo’s heart as it had not been stirred
before for many a long year.
He had won the love’of many women
—won it often for the mere pleasure of
winning; sometimes ho had won and
worn it until it wearied him, but always
believing that had the condition been re
versed, the woman would have done even
as he did. In this case he knew differ
ently. When ho lirst met Lena Man
ning she had been a child. It had been
his hand which had guided her wavering
steps across the boundary line from
childhood to womanhood; lie who had
wakened her child-heart from its slum
ber. For what ? For this! It had been
in his life a summer-idyl, a passing folly;
in hers, the one spot from which all
things henceforth must date. He was a
man of the world; she a child of nature,
whoso world henceforth was bounded by
the horizon of his presence.
“Hush, Lena—hush!” he entreated,
passing his arm about her waist. “Do
you really care for me like this ?”
A passing pride stirred at his ques
tion.
“I)o you care for me so little that you
can not understand it ?” she answered.
“Nay! I love you very dearly—so
dearly, Lena, that, might 1 carve out my
own desires, and forget my duties, I
would never go back to the great city,
and the life which has grown wearisome.
As it is, I must go; but, Lena, if I may,
dear—if I cau so shape my destiny—
some day I will leave it all ‘behind me,
anfl come again, this time to pluck and
wear my sweet woodland rose next to my
heart, forever. ”
Pretty words were very natural to
Earl Lysle; yet even as he spoke these
words, he knew that ire another year
had run its course, he was destined to
lead to the altar his heiress-cousin—a
tall, haughty brunette—whose letter of
recall now lay in the breast-pocket of his
coat.
“But—but if things should go amiss
—not as you fancy ?”
There was absolute terror in the girl’s
tones—terror so great that, to the man,
it seemed cruelty not to quiet it; and,
besides, his heart was stirring within
him to nobler, better purposes.
Perchance lie might avow to his be
trothed the truth, that, instead of a mar
riage of convenience, he sought a mar
riage of love, and ask her to free him
from chains which already began to gall
ere they were fully forgedT.
So ho only drew closer to him the
girl s slender figure, until the blonde
head lay on his shoulder, as he stooped
and pressed his lips to its golden crown.
“Have no fear, my little one. I will
come back with the first snow,”
“You promise, Earl?”
“I promise!”
*******
Lena had always loved the summer
rather than winter. The leafy trees, the
birds, the flowers, the blue sky—all had
been to her as welcome friends, to be
greeted rapturously, to be parted with
almost tearfully; but this year she could
scarcely wait for the turning of the
foliage, or the southern flight of the
birds.
She smiled from her window, as she
looked out one bright morning upon the
first frost. She laughed when people
said that it would be an early winter.
All h' painting—for she possessed
great t Jx with her brush—depicted
winter scenes—snow and ice.
But just at the Thanksgiving season
her father, a sturdy farmer, was borne
senseless, one day, to his home, and
died before he recovered consciousness.
It was her first real grief. She had
lost her mother when an infaut It
seemed to her that she could not have
had strength to live through it. but that,
as they lowered the coffin into the grave,
a few flakes of snow came whirling dowu
rom the gray sky, and she welcomed
* Tin,* 8 heaven-sent messengers of hope.
When she came back to the quiet
jWie Ifeflfip gtrps.
house, through whose rooms the dear,
cheery voice would never more echo,
she almost expected to find someone
waiting for her; but all was still and
desolate.
They were dreary weeks that followed
—the more dreary that she found a
heavy mortgage lay on the farm, and
that when all things were cleared up,
there would be left to her but a few hun
dred dollars.
“//e will not care,” she murmured.
“It will prove his love for me the more.”
The week after the funeral, set in the
first heavy snow-storm, and the papers
told how it had spread from one end of
the country to the other.
Lena was almost barricaded in her
lonely home, but she sat all day, with
folded hands, looking upon the soft,
feathery flakes watching the drifts
grow higher and higher—and knew that
it was all bringing summer to her heart.
The neighbors came to take her in
their sleighs, when the sun peeped out
again and all the earth was wrapped in
its white mantle. They said that her
cheeks were pale and her hands fever
ish, and that she must have more of this
clear, bracing air.
But she shook her head and refused
to go. Could she leave the house, when
at any moment he might come? Besides,
she had sent to him a paper with the
announcement of her father’s death, and
this must surely hasten him.
But day succeeded day, until week
followed week, and still he neither came
nor sent her word. The snow-clouds
had formed and fallen many times, and
each time her heart grew sick with long*
ing.
She loved him so wholly, she trusted
him so completely that she thought only
sickness or death could have kept him
from her.
The hours dragged very slowly. Her
little studio was neglected. She sat all
day, and every day, beside the window,
until one morning she wakened to know
that the first robin had returned, and
the first breath of spring was in the air.
He had failed to keep his promise to
her.
That same day they told her that the
farm be sold. Many neighbors
offered her a home, but she declined
them all.
A sudden resolution came to her. She
would go to the city where he lived.
Her pride forbade her seeking him, but
maybe, if he were not dead, as she often
feared, she might one day meet him in
the street, or at least hear some news of
him. \
The* hope of meeting him—of hearing
him—vanished, when she found herself
in the great metropolis, and realized its
size and immensity.
She had secured a comfortable home
w ith a good, motherly woman, but her
purse was growing scanty, and she could
not tell how long it might hold out, un
less she could find some means of sup
port, when one day, sauntering idly on
the street, glancing into a shop-window,
she saw some fancy articles, painted by
hand.
Gathering up her courage, she went in
and asked if there was sale for that sort
of work, and if she might be allowed to
test her skill.
From that hour all dread of want van
ished, and, now that hands were busy,
she found less time to brood and think.
“I want a fan painted,” the man said
to her, one day. “You may make an
original design, but it must be very
beautiful.”
Lena’s heart had been very sad all day,
as, at evening, she unfolded the satin,
and sat down, brush in hand, to fulfill
this latest order.
“It is a gift to an expectant bride,”
the shopkeeper had said; and the words
had recalled all the long waiting, the
weary disappointment, those words
might bring.
And, as she thought, she sketched,
and the hours crept on and the evening
grew into night, and the night into
morning, and still she bent over her
work, silent, engrossed.
The next day, the gentleman who harl
given the order foi*the fan sauntered into
the store. With an air of pardonable
satisfaction, the man drew it from the
box.
“The young artist has outdone herself,
sir,” he" said. “I never saw a more
beautiful piece of work, and tho design
is entirely her own. I—”
But he checked his sentence.
The gentleman had taken the fan in
his hands, and was examining it with
startled eyes, and face from which every*
trace of color had fled.
Could it be that the word Nemesis
was painted upon the satin? No, this
was all he saw. On one side was a
woodland scene, while, seated on a log
beneath the leafy branches of an old
oak, were two figures, one a man, and
one a woman. His arm was about her
waist. Her lips seemed to move, her
whole expression was full of love and
trust, and his of promise. A little laugh
ing stream ripppled at their feet. A
bird sang overhead.
Where had he seen just such a scene
before? He turned the fan on the other
side. Summer had vanished. It was
winter here. Naught but the fast-falling
snow drifting in white heaps upon the
earth.
“Who painted this?” he asked, in
hoarse, changed tones.
The man gave the name and address.
How well he had known it! but how
came Lena here? And what was this
which stirred through every fibre of his
being? Could it be that his manhood
might yet redeem him?
With swift steps he walked to the
house of his betrothed. Stately and
beautiful, she came into the drawing
room to greet him, and bent her head
that he might touch her forehead with
his, lips.
Devoted to Industrial Intertsi the Diffu>ioi of Truth, the Establishment of Justice, and the Preservation of a People’s Government,
INDIAN SPRINGS, GEORGIA.
“Helen, do yon love me?"
She had known him for long years, but
never Had she heard such earnestness,
such real passion, in his tones.
It was as though his very soul hung on
her answer. Strange, she had never
dreampt his love for her was more than
friendship, such as she had felt for him.
A tinge of color crept into her cheek.
“I have promised to marry you, Earl.
You know that I am fond of you, and
I highly respect you* Will not this sat
isfy you?”
“Mo. I want all the truth. Is your
heart mine—all mine, so that, to tear me
from it, would be to tear it asunder?”
“No, Earl. If it were for your happi
ness or mine, I could give up my lover
and still hold my friend and cousin.”
He seized her hand and carried it to his
lips more fervently than he had done
even in the moment of his courtship.
Then, taking the fan from his pocket, he
unfolded it, and told her all the tale of
his summer romance.
“I thought I could forget her,” he
said, in ending, “and that when the
snow fell and I did not return to her, she
would cease to remember me; but see,
Helen! She still remembers, and I still
love. Ido not know what brings her
here. I have heard nothing from her
since last summer. But. tell me, cousin
mine, what must I do? I leave it all to
you. ”
“I said that I would be your friend.
Now, I will be hers as well. Go to her,
Earl. Tell her all the truth. Then, if
she forgives you, make her your wife. If
she is alone in the world, as perhaps she
may be, bring her to me. She shall be
married from my house, as my sister. I
accept this fan, not as a lover’s gift, but
a pledge to the truer, more honest bond
which henceforth binds ns.”
Lena was exhausted after her sleep
less night, and, throwing herself on the
lounge in the sitting-room of her kind
hostess, she had fallen into a dreamless
slumber.
Long Earl Lysle stood and watched
her, until the magnetism of his glance
aroused her. She thought that she was
dreaming of the fan; but as he stooped
and took her in his arms, she knew that
it was reality.
She listened silently while he told her
all—even his struggle for forgetfulness
and his ignorance of his ow'n heart and
its demands. She heard that she had
sent the paper with the news of lie-,
father’s death to the wrong address, thai
he had known nothing of the long
lonely winter to which had succeeded
this wonderful, glorious summer-tim i of
hope.
Poor child! She had no room fo?
pride in the heart so filled by his image.
She forgot that there was sore need for
forgiveness.
Ho loved her now! Of that she was
assured; and after all, the snow had only
lain upon the ground to warm the earth,
and foster the rich, sweet violets, which
now bloomed and clustered at her feet,
ready for her to stoop and pluck them.
Perhaps some women, in their pride,
would have rejected them. She could
not; but, stooping, kissed them, then
transplanted them to her heart, there to
shed sweet fragrance forevermore.
A Leadville Minister.
The following remarkable report of
Protestant Episcopal life in Leadville was
made by the Rev. T. J. Mackay, a mis
sionary in charge of that church, on a
recent Sabbath in one of the large
churches of that denomination (Dr. New
tons), in Philadelphia. After stating
that when he went to Leadville, he found,
instead of a hamlet, a thriving town, with
churches of every denomination, five
banks, five daily newspapers, etc., he
said:
“My first vestryman could drink more
whisky than any man in the town. Shortly
after I made my appearance in the town
my parishioners invited me to a church
sociable, and upon going I was astonished
to see the worthy people waltzing and
dancing in the most scandalous manner.
To add to this there are two streets whose
entire length were made up of low dance
houses. How was Ito overcome such a
gigantic evil? I secured a hall, had the
floor waxed, and after engaging a band
of music, I sent out invitations to all
the yoxmg men of the place to come
down and have a dance. I instructed my
floor manager—who, by the way, made
lots of money and skipped—not to allow
any waltzing. The result was, after en
joying square dances until 11 o’clock,
the participants quietly dispersed. Some
few- said: “Wait until the preacher
goes, then we’ll have a waltz, ” but I was
fix) smart for them—l carried the key of
the hall in my pocket, and did not leave
until all had departed. Every other
w eek l gave such a sociable, and the
results are remarkably good. This char
acter of mission would not do in Phila
delphia or Boston, but it will do in Lead
ville. It may seem ungodly to practice
such a course, but it is the only way to
reach these people. When I first went
out there the congregation used to ap
plaud me when I was preaching, but I
finally got them out of such an unholy
habit. No matter who dies, the proces
sion is headed by a brass band. When I
buried Texas Jack, the partner of Buf
falo Bill, the cortege was headed by a
brass band of forty-two pieces. Lead
ville is also a great place for titles.
Everybody has a title. Captain is pretty
good but to command attention one must
be a Colonel or a General. lam a sort
of a General. I belong to five military
companies,. and in my capacity as a
militiaman I watch over my congrega
tion.
Of the fifty-eight men who framed the
Constitution and declared the indepen
dence of Texas, March 2, 1836, one is
still living, Dr. Charles B. Stewart, of
Montgomery County.
NEWS GLEANINGS.
There are 271,461 negroes in Kentucky.
Tuscaloosa, Alabama, is to have a
street railroad.
North Carolina has 26,900 colored
voters.
The locusts have appeared in middle
Tennessee.
Corn prospects throughout Florida
are very fine.
Louisville, Kentucky, has a public
library of 50,000 volumes.
A 250 pound turtle was caught on
Pensacola beach last week.
Last year Bullock county, Alabama,
bought 70 tons of guano; this year she
buys 416 tons.
W. H. Pillow has shipped from Pen
sacola, Florida, this season, thirty-nine
thousand quarts of strawberries.
The Goldsboro (N. C.) Advance says
bushels, barrels and hogsheads of straw
berries at five cents a quart, and acres
in the fields red with them for picking.
Mr. Alger, of New York, has taken
charge, and will begin and push through
water works for Charlotte, North Caro
lina.
Mr. L. O’Neil, of Nassau county, Fla.,
cleared S6OO on a small patch of celery
during the past winter.
During last week, 50,000 pounds of*
strawberries were shipped from Chattan
ooga to Cincinnati. They brought
$5,000.
J. W. Willis, of Crystal River, Flor
ida, has a field cf corn that averages
betwen eleven and twelve feet high and
not yet tasseled.
The center of population of the United
States is placed in Kenton county, Ken
tucky, a mile from the south hank of the
Ohio river.
Two men recently found a cypress
tree in Clay county, Florida, that meas
ured four feet from the ground 251 feet
in circjimference.
At Goodlettsvillc, Tennessee, a few
days since, 653 lambs were sold at five
cents p'.r pound, and were shipped to
New York by a Bowling Green man.
It will take forty thousand bushels of
corn to run the Dale county, Alabama,
farmers this year. So they will have
some $60,009 to pay for that article next
fall.
The Tecumseh furnace, at Rome, Ga.,
is said to be making an average of twenty
tons a day, and not to have been cool in
six years.
Rev. Dr. S. G. Hillyer has resigned
the pastorate of the Baptist church at
Forsyth, Ga., and received a call from
the church at Washington, Ga. This
leaves vacant also the Presidency of
Monroe Female College.
Nashville, Tennesse, is well provided
with schools. Amoug the most import
ant institutions of learning are the
Nashville University, Vanderbilt,
Ward’s Seminary, with its 250 young
ladies, Price’s Seminary, and Fisk’s
University, the latter being a colored
institution, well endowed, and provided
with magnificent buildings.
The Decoration of a Room.
Crude white is in favor with house
wives for ceilings—“it looks so clean.’
That is just its fault It looks so clean,
even when it is not, that it makes all
else look dirty, even though it may b
clean. To paint the fiat ceiling of >
moderate-sized room by hand is simply
a waste of labor. It is only at great per*
sonal inconvenience that one oan look
long at it, while, as a matter of fact, no
one cares to do so. You see it occasion
ally, by accident, and for a moment,
and, that that casual glimpse should
not be a shock to the eye, as it is as well
to tint it in accordance with the room,
or even cover it with a diapered paper,
which will to some extent withdraw the
attention from the cracks that frequent
ly disfigure the ceilings of modem
houses. What hand-painting we can
afford may beet be reserved for the pan
nels or doors, window shutters, and the
like, where it can be seen—these doors
and the other woodwork being painted
in two or three shades of colors, flat or
varnished, according as we prefer soft
ness of tone or durability of sarface.
Perhaps it will be best in this instance
that the woodwork should fall in with
the tone of the dado; but this is not a
point on which any rule can be laid
down. The decoration of the panels
should be in keeping with the wall
paper patterns. It may be much more
pronounced than they, but still it must
not assert itself. One great point of
consideration in the decoration of a room
is the relation of the various patterns
one to another. It may often be well to
sacrifice an otherwise admirable design
simply because you can find nothing
else to go witii it. A single pattern,
once chosen, will often contral the whole
scheme of decoration. —Magazine oj
Art
“Going to School.”
Class in geography, stand up. Now,
who can tell me who was King of the
Cannibal Islands 400 years ago? What,
can no one answer this gravely important
query? Is it possible that yon have
knowingly kept yourselves in the dark
on a point which may one day decide the
fate of the nation? Very well; the
whole class will stay for an hour after
school as a punishment.
The “B” class in geography will
please arise and come forward for trial
and sentence. Now then, in what direc
tion from San Francisco are the Man
grove Islands? What! can no one an
swer? And you boys expect to grow' up
and become business men, and you girls
to become wives, and yet don’t know
whether the Mangrove Islands are north,
east or southwest of San Francisco! I
shall send the boys up to the principal
to bo thrashed, and the girls will have
no recess.
The class in history will now take the
prisoners’ box, and tell the jury whether
sunflower seeds are among the exports
of Afghanistan. No answer? None of
you posted on this momentuous ques
tion? Two thirds of you on the point of
leaving school to mingle in tlio busy
scenes of life, and yet you do not know'
whether Afghanistan exports sunflower
seeds or grindstones! For five years I
have labored here as a teacher, and now
I find that my work has been thrown
away. Go to your seats and I will think
up some mode of punishment befitting
your crime.
The advanced class in mathematics
will now step forward. One of you
please step to the blackboard and illus
trate the angular rectangle northeast
corner of a quadrangle. What! No one
in all this class able to make that simple
illustration? James and Jolin and Josepli
and Henry, you expect to become mer
chants, and Mary and Kate and Nancy
and Sarah, you are all old enough to be
married, and yet yon confess your igno
rance of angular rectangular quadrangu
lers before the whole school! John,
suppose you become a wholesale grocer.
Do you expect to buy tea and sugar and
coffee and spices, and sell the same
again without reference to quadrangles?
Mary, suppose you go to the store to
buy four yards of factory at ten cents a
yard. How are you going to be certain
that you have not been cheated if you
cannot figure the right angle of a trian
gle? Ah, me! I might as well resign my
position and go home and die, for the
next generation will be so ignorant that
all educated persons will feel themselves
strangers and outcasts. — Detroit Free
Press.
A Relic of Washington,
An old walnut cabinet of antique de
sign has been discovered in the store of
Frank Ware, a second-hand furniture
lealer in Staunton, Va., to which un
usual interest attaches. In moving the
desk Ware turned it up and his eye fell
upon a singular looking inscription, to
leeipber which ho called in the aid of
several gentlemen, to make it out as fol
lows: “To George Washington by D.
Webfter in ye year 1777,” and in another
place: “Ye desk was presented to George
Washington in ye year of ye Lord 1777
by D. Webfter.” The inscribton is
quite distinct, except the “D” preceding
Webster. The cabinet was bought re
cently at a sale of the effects of the
widow of the late Samuel Clark, a former
Mayor of Staunton, and is about three
feet long and one deep and stands upon
four slender crooked legs. A drawer
runs the whole length of the cabinet at
the top and there are smaller shallow
ones beneath this, with an old fashioned
brass handle. It has been found that
Samuel Clark married a daughter of
Sampson Matthews, who was the first
man who ever kept a tavern in Staunton.
His tavern, which has long since disap
peared, was a rendezvous for Continental
soldiers. General Matthews, a brother
of the tavern-keeper, was a friend of
General Washington and was, Governor
of Georgia after the war. The old desk
evidently passed from General Washing
ton into the hands of Governor Matthews
and so into his brother’s family. Its
identity is much strengthened by the
strong resemblance between the inscrip
tion upon it and the handwriting of
Washington as seen upon an old auto
graph letter of his which has been
hunted up and compared with it.—Phil
adelphia Times.
True to the Last.
Daisy Shoemaker, the pretty daughter
of a farmer living near Richmond, Ya.,
had agreed to elope with Westland Pierce,
but when the critical moment arrived
she feared to transgress her parents’
wishes, and would not go to the rendez
vous. Her sister Jane, two years her
senior, begged her to keep her trust with
her lover, but all in vain. “Well, if you
don’t keep your word with West Pierce,
mdo it for you,” she said, and indig
nantly leaving her sister, she got into
the buggy and dashed off, despite
the screams of her sister. Miss Jane
reached the waiting place; explanations
were made; she said she was willing to
take her sister’s place. The lover,
touched by her pluck and captivated by
her determination not to let the plan fall
through, did actually marry her—so the
story goes.
A Disgraced Daughter.
A doting mother in Chicago displayed
her solicitude for her daughter’s good
name by frantically rushing into the
station and shouting, “My daughter is
disgraced!” True enough, she had
eloped with an insurance agent; but had
the mother been discreet she wouldn’t
have given it away.
The New York Central runs one hun
dred and sixty trains a day—one every
nine minutes.
SUBSCRIPTION-SI.SP.
NUMBER 42.
HUMORS OF THE DAT.
Trouble that has been brain for soma
time is hard to bear.
To step on a man’s com is a bad sign.
Look out for trouble.— Brooklyn Union
Argus.
Very precocious and forward children
are not the salt of the earth. They are
too fresh.
The man who picked up a “well-filled
pocket-book” was disgusted to find it
full of tracts on honesty.
A woman’s work is never done, be
cause when she has nothing else to do
she has her hair to fix.
The Syracuse Herald don’t under
stand liow, necessarily, a man may boa
hatter who makes his influence felt.
Speech is silver and silence golden.
That is where it costs more to make a
man hold his tongue than it does to let
him talk.
Old subscriber: “What are you
growling about? If you want an article
that will cover the whole ground, get a
Chicago girl’s shoe.”— Boston Post.
Says Henry Ward Beecher : “None
of us can take the riches and joys of this
life, beyond the grave. ” Don’t wan’t to,
sir. We’ll take ours this side of the
grave, if we can get ’em; the sooner the
better, sir.
An exchange asks “If kissing is really
a sanctimonious method of greeting why
do not the pastors who practice it ever
bestow their labial attentions upon men?”
Because the men are always away, at
their business, when the pastor calls,
and there is nobody left to kiss only the
women.— Peek's Sun.
Angry wife (time, 2 a. m.) —“Is that
you, Charles?” Jolly husband—“Zash
me.” Angry wife—“ Here have I been
standing at the head of the stairs these
two hours. Oh, Charles, how can you?”
Jolly husband (bracing up)—“Standin’
on your head on t’shtairs? Jenny, I’m
sliprised! How can I! By jove, I can’t!
Two hours, too! ’Stronary woman!”
A newspaper article asks: ‘ ‘What are
the causes of decline among American
women?” Well, generally because she
thinks the fellow cannot keep her in
sealskin sacks, French gowns and fash
ionable bonnets. When a single man
with plenty of “soap” is around there is
not any decline among American women
to speak of. —Boston Commercial Bulle
tin.
“I’ve noticed,” said Fuddidud, “that
the railroads run past all the fences that
are painted over with medical advertise
ments. It’s funny,” he added, “butit’s
so. Did any of you ever notice it?” All
present acknowledged that it had never
occurred to them before—just that way.
Fuddidud is more than ever convinced
of his profundity. —Boston Transcript.
In one of the hotels at Nice is a beau
ful American, who lately went to an “at
home ” in full dress—low-necked, satin,
diamonds, etc. On arriving and looking
around the room she perceived the other
guests to be in demi-toilet. “Well,”
she said, “if I’d known that it was only
a sit around I’d not have put my clothes
on.” —London Truth.
Americans are of a practical nature.
When an Illinois farmer who had got
rich was visiting Switzerland, they dilated
to him of the beauty of the surrounding
scenery. “Yes,” he replied, “as scenery
it’s very good. But it strikes me the
Lord has wasted a lot of Bpace on scenery
that might have been made level and
good farming land.” They wanted to
lynch him.— Boston Post.
The Chicago street car conductor may
not be very civil but he is a man of im
agination. The Jnter-Ocean tells a story
of a member of the guild who, when a
woman wearing a dolman waved her
arms to stop him, and then, fearing to
be run over by a passing wagon, did not
move from the sidewalk but continued
her gestures, shouted, “ Come, madam,
quit flapping them wings and gt
aboard.”— Boston Transcript.
Not So Crcen After All.
A chap from the rural districts stepped
into a music store in the city of Provi
dence, and, after taking a fifteen min
utes’ survey of the contents, he stepped
up to the counter and asked the clerk if
he had any new music—“ bran new, just
out ?”
The clerk measured him with his eye
for a moment, and, thinking he was ig
norant as to music, and that anything
would be fresh to his customer that had
been issued since the days of “Rosin
the Bow,” decided to palm oft’ some old
pieces which had become a drug on the
counter. So he took up “The Last
Rose of Summer,” and said :
“ Yes, here is a piece that goes with a
perfect rush, and here is ‘ The Old Arm
Chair,’ another favorite. There is
‘ When this Cruel War is Over,’ which is
all the rage all over the city.”
“That will dow,” replied Jonathan.
“How much do you ask for the lot?”
“ One dollar,” returned the clerk.
“ Waal, you may dew ’em up in a
piece of paper and lay ’em on the
shell.”
The clerk obeyed, but Jonathan did
not pay for the music.
“ I’m going down town a piece,” he
said, and if 1 come back I will pay for
that music and take it; but if I don t
come back vou may light your pipe with
‘ The Last Rose of Summer,’ sit down in
‘ The Old Arm Chair’ and wait till ‘ This
Cruel War is Over.’ ”
Jonathan slid out of the door, and the
clerk looked aa though he had been
sold.
A Real Convenience.
All fashionable ladies should carry a
hand-painted satin bag. In it can be
carried a flask, gumdrops or a handker
chief.